The Child of Dark and Light
by Nomadic Will
Summary: When Tom's soul was to be judged by the powers beyond, it was decided that to doom the bright innocent piece of his soul to eternity in the deepest hell, together with the seven deserving pieces of his soul, would be unjust. Therefore the soul of Tom was gifted a new chance at life.
1. Chapter 1

_If you cannot find any nice stories, you write them yourself._

_(or something like that, said by some fancy well-known writer)_

* * *

**The Child of Dark and Light**

In his last moments, before the green curse reached him, the last shred of humanity that had managed to survive in his sinful body called out to all the other pieces of his soul. All the pieces answered the call coming back from the world beyond to join with this last piece, so that at least in death he would once again be whole.

Some may be surprised that there were not only 7 pieces, those resulting from his horcruxes, returning. Because among these ripped pieces of soul returning there was one additional piece, so much brighter than all the other pieces. This piece held something of eternal value.

This bright piece had been lost long before Tom Marvolo Riddle made his horcruxes, long before he joined Hogwarts. It was not lost by his own choice. This precious last – or first – piece contained all of Tom's ability for positive emotion, his capability to feel happiness, gladness and friendship. It had been ripped out of a very young Tom through the most brutal circumstances possible.

Thus, in the last moment before death Lord Voldemort became human again, something he had not been since he was a little child.

* * *

When Tom's soul was to be judged by the powers beyond, it was decided that to doom the bright young piece of his soul to eternity in the deepest hell, together with the deserving rest of his soul, would be unjust. However it would be even crueller to rip the soul once again, when it had so recently been completed, so that the bright piece could join the light and the rest of the soul be sent to hell.

Therefore the soul of Tom was gifted a new chance at life. At the end of this new life his soul would be weighted, and then banished into the Dark or welcomed into the Light.

* * *

On a dark patch in Mirkwood, deep burgundy eyes opened.


	2. Chapter 2

The standard patrols in Mirkwood were an uncanny mixture of boring monotony and the adrenaline rush of frequent battle. When going into the forest one could always be sure to expect to meet plenty of loathsome giant spiders. As eternal beings, the elves in charge of patrolling the woods had been patrolling the woods for centuries. Hence, they had encountered an unending amount of these spiders. They had killed so many of the spiders that the actions had become routine and the routine had become monotony. Thus, one could not fully blame decorated war veteran, Vairë, her absentmindedness. She was moving through the wood alongside her fellow guards. They had recently vanquished jet another spider nest and where on their way back home. Her eyes wandered the woods, trying to see something that could engage her mind as she walked. At one point Vairë managed to get the rare glimpse of a natural raven, free of the darkness of the woods, that had made its way into the forest. While distracted by the raven, she fell behind her comrades.

It was only this happenstance, her delayed movement though the woods, which enabled her to hear a sudden scream of horrified agony. The scream was dim, the source much deeper in the woods. The scream was filled with such agony she had never heard before. She ran. Ran to reach the hurt one. Between the trunks of trees. Jumping over scars in the earth. Far of the path she previously had been following, she reached the being, whose screams had by now turned into heart wreaking sobs. Stopping her erratic pace, she slowly approached the being, hidden in the dark of the woods.

The being did not notice her, not even as she crouched down beside it. It was too consumed by its world of heart ache.

The being was sat on the wood floor, kneeling. Its small body convulsing with sobs. The humanoid being was hidden under a dark cloak. Only its tiny hands where visible clutching at its chest. Its head bent over. The being seemed to be unable to comprehend anything other than its great sorrow.

Slowly Vairë reached to tough its shoulder. Not wanting to disturb the obviously morning creature, but also unable to sit and watch such agony without acting. The being gave a start, but did not stop its crying. Vairë wondered how such a small humanoid creature had managed to get so far into the forest. What kind of being was this? What was it doing here?

Slowly tearstained, red eyes where turned on Vairë.

Vairë felt her thought process grind to a halt. She had not been prepared for this sight. It was the face of a child. A very young child.

Children were truly precious to elves. Not only elflings but also any other child of the free races was dear to the elves. Hence, seeing a little human child in the darkness of the evil woods, startled her.

Its body still shaking with sobs, the child observed her. Tears were still freely flowing from those odd red eyes.

In a soft voice, she spoke to the child. Offering words of comfort. The child was still crying, but had not moved away or removed her hand from its shoulder; this she took as encouragement to move closer, embracing its back with her arm, wanting to console the child. However, at this action those red eyes widened and the child made a sound of hurt, among its sobs, while flinching.

The child was in pain.

* * *

AN: Should tiny Tom be a human child or an elven child? I cannot really make up my mind. On one hand it would be nice irony, and maybe also punishment by fate, for Tom to live as a mortal human among immortal elves. Living among a people having the thing he desired the most in his previous life, unable to gain it for himself. On the other hand it would be interesting and fun for him to be an elf. Any ideas? Arguments for either of the options?


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

At that last moment Voldemort gave up on his name. The green light was about to reach him, there was no time to dodge. He knew that all his horcruxes where gone. He would die, there was no possibility of survival. He accepted his oncoming death. This long lasting flight from death was at an end.

Voldemort gave up on his flight from death and became just Tom. It was then, in that last second prior to the death curse hitting him, that something elseslammed into his chest. He was filled with a feeling of content he had never felt before. Then the green light encircled him and he died.

* * *

It was the ache in his chest that awoke him. Starting as nothing more than a slight irritation, it rapidly gained in intensity and soon it was nearly unbearable. As soon as he opened his burgundy eyes a world of forgotten thoughts and emotions slammed into his mind. Of such intensity was the experience of his chest burning at his head feeling like it had been cracked open, that a scream was forced though his throat without his awareness of it. The pain in his chest continued to gain in force. He could focus on nothing else.

The pain in his head increased in tandem with the pain in his chest. When it reached its peak, it was as if floodgates opened in his head. Memories of his past life, those of Lord Voldemort, forced themselves into his already agonized mind. Together with these more recent memories, the memories of the long lost piece of soul, the memories of a very young Tom, also entered his mind. While still in great pain, his psyche was forced to deal with memories so traumatic that they had ripped themselves, and a piece of his soul away in his previous life. Those memories had done so, to protect the sanity of a very young Tom.

Tom was still screaming in agony when the soulpiece containing Tom's humanity, his emotions, came into contact with the rest of his memories and soulpieces. He was filled by the greatest of despairs as Tom's human side learned of the atrocities Lord Voldemort had committed.

At this moment the pain of his fusing souls, of the excruciating forceful entrance of memories and of the all consuming guilt filling his being at the recognition of what he had done, overwhelmed Tom and his mind broke.

His scream stopped abruptly and he could only weep. All of his being was consumed by guilt, sorrow and pain.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Tears were still flowing from his eyes as he turned toward the voice. His mind unable to comprehend all of his memories, but still able to remember the all consuming guilt.

The female was trying to comfort him. However, her light touch caused a fire of pain to flash through his shoulder. His body was hurt. Why was he hurt? And why did his mind feel as if someone had filled it with cotton?

A startled laugh left him. How funny that someone had decided to put cotton inside his head. How had they managed to do that? The hilarious picture of someone pushing a large ball of cotton into his head, though his ear, had him clapping his hands in mirth. Too bad he soon had to stop his clapping because it was unusually painful.

The pretty female was talking to him. Still sputtering with laughter, he set his mind to listening to what she was saying. The previously mumbled noise he had heard turned into old fashioned English.

"Little one will you not let me take you with me?" she was asking him, likely having noticed that she had finally gained his attention. "This truly is too evil a place for an innocent child". At that his laughter died. He was reminded of his previous guilt. Had he been evil? Had he been an ugly, ugly monster tearing the world apart in revenge? He could not remember if it was so. He was unable to remember anything other than the all consuming remorse. What does the monster of guilt look like? He wondered. For sure it must be big, maybe green?

"Child, I am going to carry you now" the female interrupted his wonderings in a gentle voice. He just stayed staring at her.

As she lifted him, his body protested. It hurt. He cried out. "Shhh.. Little one, it will all be better soon." she soothed him "hold on Little one, well be there soon".

* * *

Prior to reaching the gate Vairë ran into her fellow guards, who had noticed her absence and stopped to wait for her. She was an excellent warrior, thus they were not very worried about her safety. They hurried towards her and the child she was carrying, surprise and curiosity visible on their faces. She only offered a few remarks on how she needed to hurry, and quickly walked past them in through the gates.

Soon she had reached the halls of healing. There she was greeted by healers, asking about her burden. "He is hurt, I am not fully aware of the extent of his injuries." The child was put on a bed and Vairë was asked to leave the room as the healers soon realised that they would need space to treat the very grave injuries of the child.

* * *

Without the black cloak and lying in a large white bed, the boy looked even more sickly than he had when she found him. Vairë was unable to clear her mind from the facts told to her by the healers. The fingers of the boys left hand were all broken, together with his wrist. Several of his ribs were cracked. He also had a deep slash wound on his left calf as well as several bruises. Who would be so cruel as to do something like this to a child?

* * *

"you know who, that is who I am. I am me" the child smiled at him. The state of the child's mind was fast becoming apparent to Thranduil. "Of course you are yourself child" he told the boy as gently as he could, "But how do people address you? What is your name?". At this, the boy gained an expression of deep concentration, seeming to find it difficult to answer the question. Then, after a long silence, something Tharanduil was unable to understand dimmed the eyes of the child and it said in a very small voice: "I am Voldemort".

When the whispered name passed the lips of the child, Thranduil froze. Although he could hear that the name was not of the Black Speech, it held the same kind of darkness as those cursed words. It was a very dark name. Through which circumstances had such a small child gotten such a name? How miserable those first years must have been for the child. Life among those using black speech was surely very unpleasant and not fit for any child, even more so a human child.

Taking in the broken and cracked fingers, leg and ribs and the severe bruises and open wounds of the child, Thranduil felt his spirit sink. How bleak an existence the child must have had. It was all just so very sad to him. How could the child go on and have a tolerable life, when his first years in this world had been so ugly. Was the mind of the boy already so tainted by sorrow and pain, that the child would be unable to function?

Thranduil would never admit it, but inside he was weeping for the tiny human child.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

* * *

To be floating outside the light, without a body was not very comfortable. It was fine for a short while, but after many years of being nothing more than a shadow, a mist of a person, it became a great burden. Watching the world, but being unable to interact with it. It was torture.

Therefore, the tiny human child was not enjoying his sleep. His mind was filled with pictures and emotions of weightlessness. In between these pictures where mixed flashes of an evil green light and screams of terror. The child decided that green was his least favourite colour.

After years and years and years of weightlessness and ugly green and screams and cold faces, he finally managed to wake up.

He awoke to a nice bright room and a nice big, soft bed. He was surrounded by the finest silk and his pillow was softer than clouds. It was very comfortable. Especially all the pretty light, he liked pretty light.

* * *

Something touched his shoulder. It was a hand. Why would anyone put a hand there? They should not do that. He would blow it off, blast it so that it would not touch him. He took in as much air as he could, and then blew it out as forcefully as he could aiming at the hand. He was disappointed to see that the hand was not blown off his shoulder.

The sound which had began before he noticed the hand, gained in intensity. The owner of the hand was talking to him. Did he once own a hand too? Maybe a wrinkled hand that lighted up places only for him, and no one else. That would have been a handy hand when he had been floating in the darkness.

Someone heavy had entered the bedroom he was laid in. The previously free air, was now full of the heavy presence of someone strong.

* * *

After being told of the unresponsiveness of the boy Tharanduil decided to visit the room given to the child while he slept his healing sleep. The child had awoken earlier the same day, but had not responded to the elves tending to him. It seemed that he was unable to see them or the food they tried feeding him.

"Little one, I trust that your parents did not name you Voldemort" Thranduil stated delicately, doubting that anyone would be so cruel as to give their own child such a dark name. The boy was staring at the empty space beside Tharanduil's head, his burgundy eyes revealing that his thoughts where far away from their conversation. "Do you remember what your parents named you?" Thranduil tried again. The boy's faced creased in distaste "He called me Tom" the boy said. "He used to tease me!".

While not fully pleased with the name provided by the child, Tharanduil was satisfied that he had at least found a name to call the boy, that did not reek of darkness. Although it truly was not a name he personally would bestow upon anyone, as it was common and without any meaning. Maybe he should present the child, Tom, with an elven name?

* * *

Tom did not really like the grandfather. The grandfather did not seem to like him either so Tom did not feel bad about his dislike. It was the grandfather that insisted on calling him Tom. It was annoying. However, Tom did not really understand why he found it annoying. Maybe because the name Voldemort was funnier than the plain name Tom and Tom wanted to have a special name?

Oh, well. The pretty man with leaves in his hair seemed to think that Tom was a much better name than Voldemort. Maybe the grandfather had been right? Pretty Man seemed to think so, and Tom found that he liked Pretty Man. He would go by Tom for now.

* * *

AN: If you find any mistakes, I would be happy to know of them so that I can fix them. I did not check this one as much as the previous ones.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

The child had only been moved from the Halls of Healing the previous day. Thranduil was happy that the child was finally physically better.

The elves had learned of the fractured mind of the child. Tom could without warning change from animated happiness to stillness as he disappeared into his own mind. The unexplainable switches between childish wonder and morbid curiosity also indicated a not fully sound mind. To understand better they had asked Tom of his past, but the tiny human was stubbornly reluctant to give much information of his past. All they knew at this point was his name.

* * *

Tom had decided that soft beds were quite nice. It was nice to get to lay down in a nice soft bed after a nice day. It really had been a nice day. Except for that morning when one of the pretty girl elves had tried to dress him in a green shirt. After that he had hidden under his bed until Pretty Man came and promised that he would not have to wear the green shirt. He had instead gotten a bright yellow shirt. It was just like the sun making him happy.

Except from the small disturbance in the morning, the day had been great. After breakfast an elf had brought Tom to the gardens. Pretty Man had introduced the elf to Tom, but Tom had forgotten the name half way to the gardens. Instead he had internally named the elf Stuck. This was because this particular elf had an even more stuck up expression (or maybe that was just his facial structure) than the generally haughty look of the other elves. The gardens where filled with flowers of all colours. Some gardens where arranged in complicated patterns, the flowers arranged in graceful displays. However Tom liked the gardens in which the flowers had been placed in artistic imitation of randomness much better.

Stuck had told Tom all about the life of the gardens. The names of the flowers, the bushes and the threes. He did not seem to mind that Tom easily forgot the names and repeatedly asked for the names of the same plants. Thus Tom learned of how some of the plants could be used as spices, for healing, as perfume, in food or as poison. The last piece of information was only added at Tom's insistent prompting. The Greasy Bat liked poisons, and Tom thought that he, maybe, liked the Greasy Bat, thus Tom must also like poisons. Therefore he had to know all there was to know of poisons.

* * *

The child seemed to have a morbid curiosity for knowledge relating to destruction. All morning Séregon had been questioned on whether excessive consumption of this plant could cause 'belly ache' or if that flower would make you 'sleep, sleep and not wake up'. The human was a very curious child. This would normally be a preferable trait, except Tom seemed unnaturally focused on the darker uses of the great gardens. Nevertheless Séregon found that he was unable to blaim the child. How could it know what was appropriate, when it had likely grown up among the foulest of creatures? It was only luck that had ensured that the child was not more broken than it was, after all that which it had been though.

* * *

A not very soft knock brought Tom out from his misty head, where he had been talking to sad black cloaks, which were so miserable that they made everyone around them miserable too. 'Tom, there is someone here who wishes to meet you ' Pretty Man said as he entered Tom's room. Following Pretty Man a quite girly not girl entered. The blond not girl knelt at the side of Tom's very soft, nice bed. 'Hello Tom. My name is Legolas. It is very nice to meet you'. Legolas smiled at Tom. 'nice like my bed?'. Tom doubted anyone would find meeting Tom as nice as his soft bed, but he still had to ask.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Tom had decided that Legolas was even nicer than Stuck. Sadly Logolas was a prince, just like in a fairy-tale Legolas had confirmed when Tom asked. Therefore, Legolas could not afford to spend much time with Tom. However, Legolas had taken the time to show Tom the armoury, in which Tom had seen lots of pretty pointy things, which would paint his hands in a pretty red colour when he touched them. When he went to show Legolas his glistening red hands, however, Tom had hastily been taken to the halls of healing again. Luckily he only had to spend a short time there. Sadly Legolas never agreed to take Tom to see the pretty glittery objects again.

Most times, however, Tom was stuck with Stuck, which was not as bad as it sounded. They spent lots of time in the gardens. Tom really liked the gardens. Maybe he could ask Pretty Man if he could not give them to Tom. Tom was sure there was a rule somewhere that said that rich, pretty, blond men were supposed to give Tom whatever he wanted.

Stuck would also easily answer almost all of Toms questions! Tom did not have to….. to.. he did not have to pretend or wink to get Stuck to answer his questions. Most of the time that is. Sometimes Stuck replied but did not say what Tom wanted to hear. Like that time when Tom had wanted to know what happened when one swallowed the pretty pink seven petaled flower in the flowerbed behind the glittering fence. Instead Stuck answered Tom 'That is not something someone as young as you should trouble your mind with childe' and made Tom promise 'To stay far away' from that particular flowerbed.

Tom was exploring the gardens on his own today, Stuck was stuck behind some bushes, over which Tom could only see the top of his hair. Actually Stuck was not really stuck, just talking to the female who found Tom.

After a short chase the blue butterfly Tom had been pursuing disappeared. When he sat down of the soft, soft grass to look at his surroundings Tom recognised the flowerbed of the pink flowers. Bearing in mind his earlier promise, Tom made sure that his body was as far away from the flowers as possible, while he squeezed his hand between the glittering sticks of the fence, snatching a few of its petals. Excitedly, Tom turned toward Stuck to brag about his latest acquisition. But before he reached the elf, he noticed the blue butterfly he earlier had been chasing sitting innocently on the leaf of a nearby tree. Eagerly he rushed to catch it, following it deeper into the gardens. The petals of the pink flower where absentmindedly put into his pocked, so that both of Tom's hand where free to catch the butterfly.

While chasing the butterfly, Tom speculated on what he should do after he caught the butterfly. Maybe if he ripped of its wings, it would not be a fly anymore, as all the flies Tom had ever seen had wings. Without its flies the butterfly would be reduced to butter. Maybe Tom could then eat it on his bun at breakfast?


End file.
